


A Holiday Away?

by AlixxBlack



Series: Holidays with Merthur [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship Status, Bromance, Gen, M/M, bros being bros, everyone is good friends tho, everything is up to you i guess, holiday fluff, implied gwen x arthur, implied merlin x arthur, saint paddy's day, st patricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13639221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: When Arthur refuses to let Merlin go on a short holiday with Gwaine, Gwen won't have it. She gives Merlin the time off against his wishes. So, naturally, Arthur follows?





	A Holiday Away?

It wasn’t Merlin’s idea. It really wasn’t.

 

But Gwen blurted it out in a fussy bit of laughing when they were arguing over whether Merlin ever properly enjoyed time off from the castle. It was rare that Merlin and Arthur were not together, and when it did happen one of the two of them was kidnapped. Inevitably, Arthur always found his way to Merlin and visa verse. Gwen was so irritated that Arthur insinuated that Merlin didn’t earn time off that she couldn’t contain how ridiculous it sounded.

 

 _“He does everything for you!”_ Merlin had agreed silently in his head with absolutely no expression suggesting that he agreed. That was the best way to go about these types of conversations. Merlin wondered in silence what was going on between them.

 

 _“He has to be asked a dozen times to do anything!”_ Merlin did not dispute this point either because it was true, but only because the king ordered a good many things all at once. There was no way he could do it all, right? Of course he would have to ask more than once! Merlin remained silent, carrying on with the dinner to be served that night.

 

She put her hands in her lap, _“Gwaine invited him away for a few days. I don’t suppose you’d let him go, then, if he asked? Because he is so insufferably terrible at his job and a break from him couldn’t possibly make sense?”_ There was something about her voice that captured his attention. Arthur realized that Gwen seriously meant that she was appalled at his whining. Merlin has forgotten what caused the fight to begin with, and he wasn’t planning on thinking on it any further until he returned to Camelot.

 

Unfortunately, Arthur is standing outside of the pub right now with his arms crossed and rain pouring over his head. Gwaine is doing his best not to chuckle while he throws back gulp after gulp of ale. Merlin frowns, “Why is he here?”

 

Gwaine pulls his pint away and dares to stand, only to fall back down; “Celebrating Saint Patrick was never something Uther Pendragon valued. Few kings this side of the ocean see it worth their time – an Irish tradition, they ramble.”

 

The only one rambling, of course, is Gwaine. Yet Merlin makes no effort to cease his words. They may eventually be of value, perhaps when he makes a point; “I celebrate it with drinking because there’s always a holiday worth drinking over. As for Arthur, if he were celebrating it back in Camelot then it is a feast. We both know that Arthur Pendragon doesn’t feign interest in a feast.”

 

When Merlin first met Arthur, when he was just a prince freshly crowned and learning his role beneath his father, he did actually enjoy the feasts. Of course, he was more interested when they accompanied festivals. Feasts trapped in the coldest months with no activities to better occupy him; Arthur took to pranking his fellow knights and causing all sorts of drama amongst the drunkest of guests. Gwaine would have been a victim of his back then. Now they’re equals, though, in a way. Gwaine serves him in whatever he requests.

 

“There were no plans for a feast in Camelot to my knowledge. I think he’d have complained once or twice if there were…” Merlin admits to his friend. Arthur Pendragon would do what he must to maintain appearances socially but he was no the type. Gwen would be the cordial spouse, and she would plan the gatherings as best needed to suit the requirements of a Kingdom’s reputation holding strong.

 

Gwaine points outside the window, “He has come on his own volition. He doubts himself. Why else would a king stand in the cold rain of a delayed spring?”

 

So Merlin recalls what actually started Gwen on her tangent, the one that gave him a week away from Camelot…

 

Arthur had told that if she did not wish to have a handmaiden he would take a second servant. Merlin thought it was a joke, but then he gestured to the weaponry that still sat at the door and dishes from that afternoon’s meal, which remained at the far end of their table.

 

Truthfully, he’d felt bad for not getting to those tasks earlier in the day but Gaius had pulled him aside for some assistance with brewing. The sort that required a bit _more_ than he could offer, if Merlin has to ever explain himself to anyone. He would let them believe he means strength so that he didn’t have to tell them the truth: _magic._

 

Gwen shook her head; _“The duties of a queen are so small since there’s not been one for so long, so I can help him with his work. It is not beneath me.”_ She was the queen that Camelot needed. She is the queen that Camelot needs. It was ridiculously kind and impossible to believe when she suggested she would help with Merlin’s work. His mind ran circles. It’s how he forgot about the transition to a more aggressive tone.

 

Arthur’s voice dropped low, _“They are not your responsibilities and I won’t have you doing them. You are not allowed to help him.”_

Gwen asked what it is he does for himself besides train. She went as far as to ask when he last made a decision without Merlin’s input. He was so enamored by Gwen being such a great woman that he’d barely heard her insinuate Arthur’s thinking isn’t entirely his own.

 

 _“My quests are not his. My responsibilities are not his. I am the King and I do what I must to rule my lands. Merlin has no say in how I lead Camelot!”_ Arthur could make choices alone, though they were often foolish and uneducated. Merlin’s existence is to save him from his own stupidity, it felt at times, but he was able to make wise decisions without help just as well. Gwen sat at that table knowing that she was lucky to be there, but knowing that she Arthur remain so arrogant and ungrateful.

 

That’s when she remarked that Merlin is Arthur’s keeper and that he does all that the young king needs. Merlin sits next to Gwaine patiently. He is drinking and drinking through the quiet that is building.

 

“I am going to go ask him, actually.” Merlin decides. Getting off of the stool proves to be the most difficult task. He has to push hard against the wood of his seat before accepting that Arthur has somehow managed to track him down. Unless he’d been following the entire time, of course, which didn’t seem impossible. Had Merlin not done the same many times?

 

Once he’s on his feet, without a drink in his hand, he races to the door with his coat. Merlin doesn’t bother to put it on, and instead leaves it by the door. Arthur is brilliant, but it is unlikely he’s brought a change of clothes with him. Once outside he drags Arthur to the door and helps him wring his clothes out. Once he’s dry enough to go inside Merlin escorts him to the stairs, “I am taking him to our room,” he shouts to Gwaine.

 

It is unlikely he’ll ever make it back to the room anyway.

 

Once they get the door closed Arthur rushes to get out of his wet clothes. Merlin offers him trousers to go with his coat. It should suit Arthur until morning. From there, perhaps there is a village nearby that Gwaine knows of that the three of them can go to shop for fresh garments. Arthur moves as nimbly as one would expect a knight to be, but falls to nearest cot with a thud unlike any other.

 

“I don’t know why I’ve come here.” Arthur admits in a loud and amused tone; “Gwen was sat in bed next to me reading a book from the library. It was the history of Camelot.”

 

Merlin grins, “She will make a perfect queen.”

 

“She already is perfect.” Arthur sighs to the ceiling. There’s something about it not full. There is a lacking in his tone that worries Merlin. It draws him closer to the king and once he is closer enough he locks onto his gaze; “And I thought that I should be here instead of there? Gwen is absolutely perfect!”

 

“Well, sometimes she complains about you when you’re not in the room. Once she even whispered complaints about you to me under the guise of taking a drink of wine.” Merlin dares to share these small imperfections hoping to give Arthur the feeling of equality to his wife. It does no such thing.

 

Arthur groans about Gwen impressing everyone she meets, groans about the love she shares with every single person working in the castle, and the inspiration she gives to others simply by proving she has a place in the castle as nobility. Then he complains of her fiery spirit, the one thing that always made her differ from other suitors. Arthur complains of the way she gave Merlin time off without his approval.

 

Merlin waits for him to stop talking, and waiting seems to take all night. Occasionally he comments in somewhat agreement with the king. Sometimes he almost falls asleep while the king goes on and on, but he still gets the point of it. Arthur just can’t stop talking about all the things about Gwen that are amazing, annoying, and alluring. At the end of all his gabbing, though, he rolls on his side and asks Merlin a stupid question to conclude the madness of following him all the way out in the middle of kind-of-nowhere: “Why am I here?”

 

“I don’t know.” Merlin comments, “So Gwaine told me about this Saint Patrick…” Maybe there is something about this man that could help the two friends decide what brings Arthur all this way. Away from his castle… Away from his knights… Away from his wife…

 

There really is not much to tell. Merlin shares what little he’s gathered. A patron saint responsible for converting Ireland, not even his homeland, away from paganism hosted by druids. Christianity became their religion of choice, and the success of such is credit to Saint Patrick. He was a good man, Gwaine insists, for lifting a few bans on the day of the feast. One of those restrictions being alcohol consumption, wouldn’t one guess? It is a holiday he intends to celebrate each year, until eventually he dies on it. Gwaine swears he will die during a Saint Patrick’s Day celebration.

 

Merlin hopes that he does because it is precisely how Gwaine wishes to go, and how he deserves to as well.

 

“You do know I was aware of this, right?” Arthur scoffs, playfully as he usually does, before jumping up on his cot and pushing himself towards Merlin. Soon he sits next to his manservant and pats his lower back, “I am not as stupid as you think I am, Merlin.”

 

A laugh jumps from his mouth unwillingly, “Nor am I, my lord.”

 

Arthur wears a lopsided grin that always lifts Merlin’s spirits.

 

Whatever the _real_ reason Arthur came – he is glad for it.


End file.
